I watched her parted lips. They said enough
And nothing more. I would have been content
With happiness; I would have borne at large
The baby’s-breath that tucked a faded rose
Between its gauzy stems. A place where wood
And stone could fit together, a cognate
Of aspen (our favorite rendezvous)
And granite (worldly, but not of this world).
Someplace that found and fleshed us out and we
Delighted, being found. A little ground
Within a forest clearing, lamed by pleasure –
An April sunbeam’s doubled-bladed shaft.
It would have been such deepening of light,
Its richness ran to darkness as a friend,
And stars would hate to see it go away
When winter swept the constellations from
The northern sky. Some ground, I say, we’d find
If only she would say, if only speak.
I watched her parted lips. They said, “Not here.”